"Well?"

"It's I--Spunk and I. May we come in?" called a confident voice.

Bertram said a sharp word behind his teeth--but he opened the door.

"Of course! I was--painting," he announced.

"How lovely! And I'll watch you. Oh, my--what a pretty room!"

"I'm glad you like it."

"Indeed I do; I like it ever so much. I shall stay here lots, I know."

"Oh, you--will!" For once even Bertram's ready tongue failed to find
fitting response.

"Yes. Now paint. I want to see you. Aunt Hannah has gone out anyway, and
I'm lonesome. I think I'll stay."

"But I can't--that is, I'm not used to spectators."

"Of course you aren't, you poor old lonesomeness! But it isn't going to
be that way, any more, you know, now that I've come. I sha'n't let you
be lonesome."

"I could swear to that," declared the man, with sudden fervor; and for
Billy's peace of mind it was just as well, perhaps, that she did not
know the exact source of that fervency.